


The Division

by iwantthedean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 14:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13319712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantthedean/pseuds/iwantthedean
Summary: In 1958, the demon Abaddon destroyed the last of the members of the American chapter of the Men of Letters. The British Men of Letters came to the States to set up a new chapter, but instead handed over the maintenance of supernatural events to the United States government.Finley O’Connor grew up in the hunting life, but escaped it as soon as she turned eighteen. At the top of her class with a bachelor’s in Criminal Justice and a minor in US History, her family background makes her a highly wanted candidate for the supernatural division of the government – a rare find in this day and age. After joining The Division, Finley quickly works her way to the role of the division’s top agent.Things go smooth for a while, until she stumbles across information she wasn’t supposed to know anything about. With nowhere else to turn, she shows up on the bunker doorstep with a gunshot wound and in need of help from old friends.Together with the Winchesters, Finley takes on everything she thought she knew about her past, present, and future – and attempts to save the world in the process.





	The Division

Sam Campbell straightened his tie and let out a nervous breath before entering the unmarked building. He checked in at the front desk; the receptionist gave him a curt smile and told him to have a seat, his escort would be along soon. 

While he waited for said escort to appear, Sam took a good look around the lobby. Nearly everything was black and grey, entirely industrial; no, more of a corporate feel. The temperature was pleasant but the environment cold. Knowing the purpose of The Division, Sam couldn’t say he was surprised. 

“Campbell?” 

Sam looked up to see a man certainly older than him, but not old by any means, leaning against the receptionist’s desk. The man looked worn by life but as clean-cut as Sam would expect any agent from The Division to look. 

Extending his hand towards the man, Sam introduced himself. “Thank you for showing me the ropes.”

“It’s an assignment, boy,” the man replied with a thick Louisiana accent. “I’m Benny Lafitte, and I’ll be your mentor for the next few weeks while you get the hang of things around here. Thanks, Ellen.”

Benny gave a polite nod in the receptionist’s office, then motioned for Sam to follow him to the elevators down the hall. Once the cart was taking them to the seventh floor, Benny fished a laminate from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to Sam. 

“Badge. Keep it on you, keep it inconspicuous. You’ll have to find a place for it while you’re in the field, but you’ve got time. It’ll be weeks before you’re in the field.”

“Right.”

The elevator doors opened and the men walked off the cart, Benny a few steps ahead of Sam. He pointed out different people along the way, working in cubicles and seeming to take little to no notice of the new recruit. 

“My office is here,” Benny said, motioning to an office set off from the others, with plexiglass windows so that Benny could watch the floor without getting up from his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Sam did as he was told, rubbing his hands together and clearing his throat. “I really appreciate the opportunity —”

“So what’s your story, kid?” Benny interrupted. 

“My story?”

Benny opened a file folder on his desk. “Your story. Says here your mother was killed in a house fire when you were six months old, you traveled the country with your father until you were eleven, when you entered a boys’ home. Graduated top of your class in high school, from Stanford, and had the highest win rate at the firm you worked for before you applied to The Division.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

Benny looked at him expectantly. “So? Your story?”

“Sounds like you already know it.”

“No.” Benny closed the filed and tapped his finger on it. “This is your history. Doesn’t tell me shit about _you_.”

Clearing his throat again, Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Right, well, my father was a hunter. I traveled with him and my brother until I was eleven, when they left me at that boys’ home. I never saw or heard from them after that. Research into the supernatural was always something I did as a hobby — a very involved hobby. Several years ago, my college girlfriend and I were in a car accident. She was killed, I should have died — should have, but by some sort of miracle, I didn’t. Doctors couldn’t explain it. So, I finished law school, worked as a lawyer for a while, and waited for whatever greater purpose I was meant to serve. When I found out about The Division, I applied. I have no desire, Mr. Lafitte, to hunt or kill, only to be of use to the lore archived here.”

Benny smirked. “Isn’t that just precious. You do understand, Campbell, that the primary training of any agent here is learning to fight whatever comes your way? Just because you’ll be sitting here in research, doesn’t mean that you won’t ever be called to guard someone or join the fight against a particularly wicked force threatening the greater well-being?”

“I am aware, yes. And I know the chance is greater as a new recruit.”

Benny nodded. “Good. In that case, follow me. I’ll show you to the basement where our recon and assassination agents do their training. You’ll want to get at least one session in, probably before the next couple of days.”

As they approached the elevators again, Sam realized that his mentor was not the type for research; not as Sam would have expected. 

“Mr. Lafitte —”

“Benny.”

“Benny,” Sam echoed, “how is it you ended up in research?”

The elevator doors closed, and Benny squared up to Sam. He opened his mouth, and fangs protruded out from his gums. Sam’s breath caught in his throat — his brother and father had told him about vampires, but he had never come across one face to face. 

Benny’s fangs retracted. “The higher ups get hesitant to send you into the field when you’re liable to drain every being you come across, no matter how much control you show them you have.”

He stepped away from Sam then, leaving the younger man to contemplate this new information. He understood now why Benny was abrasive. Though he didn’t show it well, Sam had his own past to be bitter over. 

The rest of the elevator ride was silent as the two men descended into the basement. When the doors slid open again, the sounds of weights clanking and treadmills running and fists clashing assaulted Sam’s ears. All of the agents were in different modes of training, some appearing more weathered than others. 

“All of these agents are in our Recon and Assassination division. When they aren’t out in the field, they’re likely here training or briefing for new missions or recently completed missions.” Benny saw Sam’s eyes widen as they passed a pair of agents in an intense sparring session. “Hope you brought your gym shorts, Campbell.”

“Why’s that?”

Benny stopped walking and nodded toward the sparring agents. “Initiation, Sam. Every agent goes through it. You’ll be boxing The Division’s top three agents tomorrow night.”

With that, Benny clapped Sam on the back and chuckled his way back to the elevator, leaving the recruit shocked and, honestly, a little scared. 

*

The rest of his first day was spent working out, eating a light supper, and crashing out in the dorm room Benny had informed him he would be sleeping in until The Division saw fit to find him other living quarters. 

The second day, Benny had him up at the crack of dawn to train. There was a ten-mile run, an entire weight-lifting session, and sparring — all before lunch. After the meal, Sam swam laps before Benny allowed him to get some rest before the big fight. 

“What time should I be downstairs?” Sam asked. 

“Downstairs,” Benny chuckled. “Not downstairs. Wear something casual, bring your gym stuff. I’ll pick you up at nine. Better look put together, Sammy. Don’t embarrass me.”

Sam started to laugh at that last statement, but Benny’s serious expression stopped him. Before anyone could change plans on him, Sam made himself comfortable on his bed and was asleep a few minutes later. 

*

Kevin Tran was a young kid, fresh out of high school. From his corner of the fighting ring, with agents cheering and jeering all around them, Benny informed Sam that Kevin had come to them straight out of high school — and was, in fact, a prophet. 

“The Division protects him and uses him in Research, mostly,” Benny said, helping Sam get his sparring gloves on. “He’s tougher than he looks, but you should be able to take him.”

After opening up for the mouthpiece Benny offered, Sam went to the middle of the ring and squared up with Kevin; there were no rules announced, no referee to stop them when things got out of hand, no handshake or promises to fight fair. 

Before Sam was ready, Kevin lunged out with a jab to his ribs, testing out his tall opponent. Sam groaned in pain, but put his guard back up. The next punch was his, a right hook across Kevin’s chin. The younger man spit blood, and Sam smirked; he still had the moves his brother and father had taught him. 

Taking the prophet out wasn’t much once Sam’s confidence built up after that first hit. When he saw his next opponent, however, Sam’s confidence took another dip. 

“Gordon Walker. Formerly a vampire hunter, second-best agent in Recon,” Benny said, squirting water from a bottle into Sam’s mouth before replacing the mouthpiece. “You’ll find out about him soon enough.”

The older, more experienced man had Sam thinking that perhaps he was done for in just a couple of minutes. Why worry about the third round when there was a good chance he wasn’t going to survive this round? But Benny had assured him on the way down from his dorm that all three rounds would be fought, regardless. 

At that point, Sam refused to give in and let Gordon Walker kick his ass. Despite a bleeding lip and bruised ribs, Sam ducked Gordon’s next strike and took the man out at the hips. With Gordon on the floor and not accustomed to groundwork, Sam had the upper-hand. He struck out at Gordon’s face, one side and then the other, back and forth until the older man tapped out. 

The crowd cheered as Sam held his hands up in victory; his ribs screamed out at the action, but he was too full of adrenaline to care about the pain. He took a seat at the edge of the ring for Benny to doctor his new injuries. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get too worked up with pride just yet, newbie,” Benny warned. “You’ve got the top agent coming up next, and Finley doesn’t fuck around.”

The agents all watching the fight had quieted somewhat, but when they began to cheer again, Sam took that as his cue to get back on his feet and face the ring. He swung his arms in front of him, stretching them out before rolling his neck to stretch those muscles. He took his stance … and immediately dropped it before turning back to Benny. 

“A girl? You want me to fight a girl?” Sam exclaimed. 

Benny, arms crossed over his chest, simply nodded back towards the ring. Sam turned around and straight into Finley’s fist connecting with his teeth. Despite the mouthguard, blood poured from his lip. 

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m not gonna fight a girl, all right?”

“That’s too bad,” Finley responded, taking another strike at his face, “because she’s gonna kick your ass.”

A roundhouse kick hit him directly in his bruised ribs, and Sam hit the ground. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd’s taunts, he heard Benny shout that hitting the ground was a bad idea, but Sam was in too much pain to process any sort of direction. Finley’s leg swung back around; Sam saw stars and felt his body falling back to the ground. 

From there, she was on top of him, striking relentlessly. _Why wouldn’t she?_ Sam thought to himself. With her size versus his, her best bet was to keep striking until he passed out or someone pulled her off of him. 

He was getting his ass kicked and he knew it. With one last bit of effort he had left, Sam pushed the woman to the side, and took a good, open-handed strike across her cheek. 

The crowd nearly went silent. He got up, backing away from Finley slowly as she stood. She reached up to feel her cheek, unimpressed with the blood that came off of her fingers from the cut just below her eye. Her eyes narrowed and she took a deep breath; it reminded Sam of a bull ready to charge. 

“O’Connor!” 

Whatever noise had still been humming in the crowd stopped now, and silence reigned. An older man cut his way through all of the agents and climbed into the ring. 

“What did I tell all of you about this initiation nonsense?” the man scolded. “Finley, he’s only been here for three days and you already are gonna take him out? No wonder I can’t keep anyone around! You and Campbell get cleaned up, the rest of you — disperse! Lafitte, I want you in my office first thing tomorrow morning!”

Benny nodded and motioned for Sam to follow him. Glancing behind them, Sam could see that Finley O’Connor wasn’t far behind. 

“Who was that?” Sam asked. 

“Cuthbert Sinclair,” Finley said, pushing past him to the locker room. “He runs The Division. You can leave the new kid here, Ben. I won’t leave him any worse for the wear.”

Benny nodded his thanks and bid both of them a good night. Finley pulled a gym bag from a locker and tossed her sweaty sparring gloves into it. 

“First time anyone’s gotten a hit on me in a while,” Finley told him. “Nice job, kid.”

“Kid?” Sam scoffed, pulling a shirt from his own bag. “I can’t be much older than you. If at all.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Instead of being angry, Sam decided he would try to make friends other than Benny. “Well, listen. I’m Sam Campbell.”

“I know who you are, and you already know everything you need to know about me. This is a lonely life, Sam. Better get used to it, and don’t bother getting attached to anyone,” Finley informed him coldly. 

Sam frowned. “Anyone? I mean, I still have the people I grew up with, former co-workers. I’ve been shady about where I’m working now, but —”

Finley shouldered her bag and interrupted him. “No one. I have a partner on missions sometimes, and that for that one and only mission. Sometimes they don’t come back, and it’s best not to get worked up over that. I don’t have any family, no friends, no one but me.”

“What about your parents? What if all of this fell apart tomorrow?” Maybe he’d taken one too many hits and was pushing an irrelevant issue, but Sam couldn’t make himself stop asking questions. 

“Then so would I,” Finley snapped back. “Never knew my dad and my mom — she’s dead. Most of us aren’t like you, all right? Like I said, no family, no friends, nowhere and no one I would run to if things went to shit. This isn’t some utopian society, Campbell, it’s the parts of life that no one else wants to acknowledge or handle. Welcome to it.”


End file.
